


Praying to a God who is no longer there for a forgiveness that is no longer wanted

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blasphemy kink, Blood, F/M, Meg in a nun's habit, Religion Kink, Rope Bondage, inappropriate use of a crucifix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t know why he prayed now - after he had rebelled and killed his brothers, after he had the arrogance to believe he could take up God’s role – he prayed more than he ever did when he followed heaven’s orders blind and obedient. Perhaps he felt that he needed it more now, wanted the comfort of centuries established ritual. Besides, a man secure in his faith did not need the reassurance of prayer, it was the sinners and the lost who needed it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Praying to a God who is no longer there for a forgiveness that is no longer wanted

“Our father who art in heaven hallowed by they name.”

Castiel sank to his knees on the dirty floor of an abandoned church, dry leaves whispering as they skittered with autumn breeze that came through broken windows, only jagged shadows of color falling from stained glass pictures now just abstracts. The altar had cracked and fallen to rubble, the plaster bloomed shades of green and birds chirped from their nest in the choir balcony. 

“Thy kingdom come, they will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

He didn’t know why he prayed now - after he had rebelled and killed his brothers, after he had the arrogance to believe he could take up God’s role – he prayed more than he ever did when he followed heaven’s orders blind and obedient. Perhaps he felt that he needed it more now, wanted the comfort of centuries established ritual. Besides, a man secure in his faith did not need the reassurance of prayer, it was the sinners and the lost who needed it. God and the angels had existed long before Christianity and would live long after it’s fall, all these trappings were simply reminders for wayward children. He was a wayward son. 

“Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our sins, as we have forgiven those who sin against us.”

The angel knew that God was not listening anymore, knew that his brothers had fallen into bickering territory wars, knew that the solidity of his reality which had been for all his existence was fundamentally cracked and damaged beyond repair. But the prayer felt right off his lips now.

“And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Amen.”

Grunting when his arms were pulled forcefully behind him, rope twined around his forearms just below the elbow chafed against bare skin. He had already disrobed entirely, a lithe soldiers body bared in the decay of the church, only one other kept him company, robed from head to toe in the nun’s habit. Where she had gotten it he would not ask.

“Adorable Clarence, you do remember no one is listening?”

“I am not naive.”

Rope twisted around one forearm, looped upon itself and twisted round the other, passed back and forth down the length till it was pulled painfully tight around his wrists. Another length was passed under his ankles in the empty space where he held himself in an upright kneeling position, passing back and forth several times and meeting a knot on the rope around his wrists. 

“ They abandoned you first, you know. They used you.”

A third length of rope was folded in half and pulled around his neck to form a simple larks knot that was fastened at a set point and tied down with the rope at his elbows. Neck to arms to legs, bound the length taut so that if he struggled he’d only end up choking himself. They had used him, yes, many times, but so had he used others. If anything, he deserved this punishment, for he had transgressed in his pride and arrogance. 

Meg rounded on him, only her pale soft face visible in the habit, framed in white cloth with black falls over her shoulder and down the formless dress. Delicate hands cupped his face and tilted his gaze up, almost tender and sweet, understanding in eyes that were human for now.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s hilarious that you find comfort in blasphemy. Trying to punish yourself. But that’s my job. “

Pink petal lips twisted in a grin, one hand running through his hair before she turned and made her way up the few steps up the apse, perching on the edge, pulling black skirts up and parting her legs lewdly as she settled comfortably there, making sure he could see everything, the creamy length of smooth legs running up to a soft patch of light brown curls parted by slender fingers to reveal pink folds already slick and wet.

Meg reached behind her for the crucifix she had placed there, as long as her forearm, a forlorn metal Jesus weeping at her from his perch, the wood of the cross worn mostly smooth. She always thought it was funny how humans idolized such suffering, placing these images in front of their children, bleeding statues and desperate eyes and reaching hands trapped in a moment begging their lord for mercy that would never come. They were taught to suffer, taught follow, taught that it was a great honor for God to place burdens on them. Really, it was all very devious in her mind, a subtle sort of torture. God was a cruel father. Meg didn’t miss him very much. Castiel was better now in her opinion, with free will and critical thought, even if all the broken pieces didn’t line up anymore. It was easy to become overwhelmed when you are well and truly alone, perhaps that’s why they ended up finding small comfort in each other’s company. 

Habits are hard to break, and the ideologies of childhood can never really be outrun. Maybe this blasphemy was his way of defying all of that, making it dirty, marring it’s presence to crack it’s power over him. She might not understand it, but the look on his face, broken open and hungry, as she pushed the long end of the cross into her cunt, oh she would fuck as many crucifixes’ as he wanted to see the pink of his tongue dart out to lick the corner of chapped lips, to see him lean forward ever so slightly till he felt the pull of his restraints, to see his chest rise and fall in more rapid succession.

It hurt, and that only made it better. She could barely force it enough to push little Jesus’ feet inside, the boxed shape awkward and hard, her pretty face contorted with the stretch and tear of it, mouth parted in an obscene prayer to a different kind of god. Soon her thighs were slick with cum and blood, pushing harder, rocking her hips down, gasping and moaning like a pretty whore for Castiel, hot and stuffy in the nun’s habit that clung to her with sweat, thick material bunching up around her waist. 

Meg couldn’t hear Castiel’s low confused whine as she fucked herself hard and raw, garbled mix of moans and screams echoing in the vaulted space. One hand reached back to brace on the floor as she arched up, rising and falling on the balls of her feet, relentless until the pleasure started crowding out the pain, flushing through her till she came open mouthed and panting on the crucifix. 

Taking a moment to breath, suffocating in the nuns habit, she kept the dirtied crucifix in one hand, the other reaching between her legs to feel the results, rubbing herself open so Castiel could watch, bringing her hand up to lick at the blood and cream like a cat. There was a sheen of perspiration along his skin, muscles quivering with strain, his cock twitching up against his stomach swollen and beading with pre come. 

Rising and keeping her skirts lifted round her waste she slinked down to Castiel, crucifix dripping a trail into the dust, bringing the used up to lift Castiel’s chin when his gaze remained fixed on her smooth thighs streaked red. She needed to see the hard ice blue of his normal look cracked open, see the depths of the waters underneath, see just how dangerous he was though he’d lay himself down vulnerable for her. He could be out of those ropes in a second but the real ties were in his mind. Meg found herself desiring the angels company because he was a rebellious and stubborn angel, cunning and powerful. Why he was associating with a rogue demon who wasn’t really in anyone’s favor, well, she did cut a nice figure in a nun’s habit. 

“Look at your idol Clarence. What kind of angel are you if you won’t keep a demon from profaning the sanctity of the church?”

Castiel didn’t answer, he had no answers for himself, turning to lick the crucifix instead, metallic bite of blood and earthy cum against the old wood of an object once well loved and regarded now made into this mockery. 

“Do you wanna fuck me where your toy Jesus was hm?”

Bristling slightly at the inflection of toy, he still said nothing, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. But the angle sat back, or tried, to rest his backside down against the tops of his feet so she could sit in his lap. The ropes didn’t quite allow for this, movements all jerky and retracted when he began to choke. But then she was moving around him, making adjustments and pushing down on his shoulders till he settled, retying and cinching knots, giving a good pull to the ropes around his neck to make him gasp.

“Play along, I want you to tell me what you want.”

There was only a brief flicker of consideration on his face before responding, “I want to commit sin with you.”

“Well geese don’t you know how to woo a girl.”

Coming back around to his front and casting the crucifix aside, Meg lifted the nun’s habit with both hands, lowering herself onto Castiel’s erection, rocking and sinking down, clasping her thighs against his sides and turning her feet down on the floor for leverage. Pale hands streaked with blood came up to hold his face, where their bodies met obscured and draped in black, she cupped his cheeks in a hold one might call tender but it was only to keep his attention on her. She did not lean in for a kiss and he did not ask for one. They fucked dirty and blasphemed because somehow that made Castiel feel more clear headed, to have a different perspective, another ledge of experience over which to assess his situation. But he could never seem to pin it down. He was lost but in these moments he could pretend he had been found.

Meg shook in his lap as she rose and fell with small rolls of her hips, cunt still split open and stinging, lips fallen open, hands moving around to Castiel’s strong shoulders and gripping tight, squeezing around his cock to draw all those unguarded little gasps and moans, carnal noises of sin from holy lips, knowing when he was climbing near in the clench of muscles under her hands, bracing like they could deny this, stave it off, bracing like he could resist succumbing but he never would. Sliding down and undulating her hips with serpentine rolls starting under her ribs, Meg drew it out of him slow and sweet, running her fingers through the hair at his nape and crooning reassurances they both knew weren’t genuine.

In the stillness and quiet that followed as they remained pressed together, Castiel listened to the birds singing, feeling better for the little birds own worshipping of God in the sacred space. Logically, he did not feel shame for the acts he committed, having fallen so far already, but the bone deep reaction bred of centuries still coiled in him, hot and sick it turned his stomach. He knew he’d come back. There was something good in Meg for all her evil, some small seed that seemed to be sprouting, and he felt something kindred in her for her abdication of her brethren as she forged her own path. Pressing his head forward even though he could barely breath with the pull on his ropes, Castiel rested a sweaty forehead against the hot thick fabric covering her breasts. It wasn’t as though angels never sinned. Though they may be contemptuous of humans for their proclivities to certain sins, there were some that had been the downfall of many of his brothers. Pride, envy, and most certainly wrath. Angels were quite adept at sinning as well. 

Meg stroked the dip between his shoulder blades where the skin rolled and bowed, powerful arms restrained in rope, skin slick with sweat, her chin coming to rest against the top of his head. She was supposed to be hiding, but could never stay away when Castiel sent out signs for her. Maybe she liked the thought of corrupting an angel. That’s what she told herself at least, not wanting to look too much deeper past that. Sighing, Meg pushed up off Castiel’s lap, moving around him to undo the ropes. 

When he was free, Castiel did not rub at the red raw marks along his skin, or rise to stretch his legs. Instead he tugged Meg’s skirts till she was standing in front of him, pushing them up and pressing his face between her legs where blood, semen and cum spilled down firm thighs. Lapping at her slit with relaxed tongue and rubbing a stubbled cheek against her skin, Castiel reciprocated in his own way, wanting to soothe the wounds she inflicted on herself, needing the pleased almost giggle that bubbled from her in surprise. When her legs quivered beside his face and his jaw was sore, Castiel rocked back on his feet, stretching up to pop his shoulders and rising fluidly, turning to find his clothes folded on a pew and dress. 

“I’m sure you need to get back to your bees Clarence. Feel free to call me again when you want to commit sins together. “ 

Still robed in the nuns habit Meg left as abruptly as she had come.

Castiel picked up the stained crucifix, placing it back on the collapsed alter, kneeling again for a silent prayer. He continued to pray to a god he knew wasn’t there for a forgiveness he didn’t want.


End file.
